Canine Bodyguard
by Azara-Rayne18
Summary: At the end of his rope, Morgan convinces Reid to dog-sit Clooney. But after a serious accident, Reid relationship with Morgan's dog goes through a drastic change, and gives the team an interesting idea to protect their youngest...
1. Chapter 1

"Morgan, no!"

"C'mon, Reid. Please?"

"I thought you were going to have Garcia do it?"

"I was going to, but Garcia has the flu, she's gonna be laid up all weekend. Please Reid, I need this, and no one else can do it for me."

"What about JJ?"

"She's going to East Alleghany to visit her folks."

"Elle?"

"Going to New York, where she will not be visiting her folks."

"Gideon?"

"The cabin."

"Hotch?"

"Has a family, and Haley doesn't love me that much."

"Haley likes you."

"She likes me fine, but she doesn't love me, especially not enough for last minute favors."

"Well, what about that girl in accounting, the one that likes you. Corie?"

"Corie is allergic to dogs. Reid, man, you know I wouldn't be asking you if you weren't the last resort. This is the first four day weekend we've had in almost a year, I got a sweet deal on a hotel room in Orlando, and I do not want to give up four days of sun and fun because no one can watch Clooney."

"Well…" He was breaking Reid down, Morgan could feel it. The kid was a pushover, especially when it came to favors.

"All you have to do is stay at my house for the next few days, let him out to go to the bathroom every so often, feed him twice a day, and take him for a walk a few times. In the meantime, I have a fully stocked fridge, big screen TV, and queen sized bed with your name on it. Please." It was a good deal.

"I don't know, Morgan," Reid said, gently biting down on his bottom lip, "I've never been dog-sitting before."

"It's easy, Reid."

"But what about the Reid-effect?"

"Oh, come on, Reid, you don't really… wait, how do you know about the Reid-effect?"

"You know how I fall asleep in the jet on the way home from cases?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you should really wait until I'm fully asleep before you start talking about me."

"I figured you would let me know if you were still awake," Morgan said.

"And miss out on hearing what you say about me when I'm not around? Not a chance."

"Oh, you little," Morgan shook his head, mentally vowing, as he often did, never to trust Reid again, "Don't change the subject. Clooney'll love you, he's a good dog. Please?"

"Well," Reid's resolve was crumbling, Morgan just needed one good bargaining chip to seal the deal. And he had just the thing in mind.

"I got a new espresso machine," Reid's head snapped up; Morgan knew his coffee machine was a piece of junk.

"Can I put as much sugar as I want in it?"

"Reid, you do this for me, and I'll buy you your own bag."

Morgan knew Reid was only mulling it over to make him squirm.

******************

"Alright, Reid, here you go," Morgan handed Reid the key to his house. His bags were already packed into the car, Reid had been introduced to Clooney with minimal incident – the dog had tried to jump up on him, which caused the young genius to jump about four feet in the air, but he had recovered fairly quickly – and the plane wasn't scheduled to take off for another few hours, "Oh, one last thing. Clooney has these jumbo dog treats on the top shelf of the pantry. He's going to try and beg one off of you, but the vet's worried about caloric intake or something like that, so Clooney's on a diet. No treats for another month or so."

"Okay," Reid said, nodding. "Have a good vacation."

"Thanks, man. I'll see you in four days."

The last view Morgan got of Reid was seeing the kid walk into his house and close the door. He drove off lighthearted, not thinking that it could be the last time he saw the kid alive.

* * *

The sound of his phone woke Morgan in the middle of the night. He rolled over and looked at his bedside clock. Two in the morning. It was a bit earlier than he was usually asleep, but Morgan was planning on catching a plane back to Quantico tomorrow morning.

For a moment, Morgan paused to smile to himself. The last three days had been amazing, to say the least. Warm sun, hot clubs, and beautiful women could do a lot for a guy's morale… the demanding chime of his phone interrupted him.

"Morgan." He answered shortly.

"Morgan, who did you have dog sit in place of me?" Garcia's woke sounded wet and stuffy, which Morgan assumed was because of the flu. He grinned.

"What, no baby? No sugar? No Chocolate God of Thunder? What's up, Mama, are you sick?"

"Derek, who did you have dog sit in place of me?" Morgan was instantly at attention. Garcia never called him, 'Derek', and she certainly never used that tone when she talked to him. Something was wrong.

"Reid, why?" He asked.

"Oh, no," Garcia moaned. The wet, stuffy sound was tears, Morgan realized, though it was hard to register over the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears.

"Why? Garcia, what happened? Is Reid okay?"

"I don't know, Morgan. I was just watching the news and I saw your house…"

"Garcia, what happened?" Morgan tried not to sound too harsh, tried not to think about what could have happened to Reid.

"Morgan, your house burned down," Garcia whispered, "It caught fire in the middle of the night, all they said was that someone was taken to the hospital."

"Did they say what condition he was in?" Morgan asked. In a way, he was oddly relieved. Hospitals meant hurt, not dead. If Reid was taken to the hospital, it meant he was still alive.

"I don't know," Garcia said, "I'm trying to hack into the hospital database, but it's hard to get in. You need to get home, Derek."

"I'm calling to transfer my plane tickets right now."

******************

It was the longest plane ride Morgan had ever been through. The whole time, all he could think about was Reid. Reid hadn't even wanted to watch Clooney; he had pressured him into it. If the kid was hurt badly, Morgan knew he'd never forgive himself.

All and all, it was a panicked man who ran through the doors of St. John General Hospital. Gideon was sitting in the lobby, waiting for him.

"Morgan," He said, rising to his feet, "Garcia told me your plane was coming in."

"How is he?" Morgan asked, his voice rising.

"Calm down, Morgan," Hotch said, coming up next to him, "He's alright. We can take you to him, but you need to be calm. Reid needs his rest."

"Alright," Morgan said, struggling to gain control of himself.

The first thing to greet him when he reached the door of Reid's hospital room was Clooney. The golden retriever jumped on him, followed by JJ.

"I got Clooney from your landlord on the way over. Elle is still in New York; Garcia called her and told her about what happened. She'll be in tonight to visit Reid."

"How is he?" Morgan asked again, walking around JJ to see his young friend.

The frightened part of him was expecting burns at the very least, but Reid looked undamaged. He was lying in bed, sheets drawn up to his chin, which made him look like a child, but also hid from Morgan any injuries he may have sustained.

"Shhhh, my Chocolate God of Thunder. Don't want to wake up the invalid," Garcia grinned from her place next to Reid's bed. Perky pet names. Morgan relaxed and walked over, taking the free seat next to Reid.

"He's fine," Gideon said, "The doctors are keeping him overnight for observation, but the only real concern is smoke inhalation. There doesn't seem to be any lasting damage to his lungs, so he should be able to go home tomorrow."

Reid shifted, his hand slipping from under the covers. Morgan grabbed it and placed it back onto the bed, "What happened?"

"I can answer that," JJ said, coming up next to Morgan and placing her own hand on his shoulder, "Apparently, Clooney woke Reid up when he realized the house was burning. Reid crawled across the floor to the front door, but passed out from the smoke before he got the door all the way open. Clooney dragged him the rest of the way out the door and onto the street."

"Reid's very lucky," Hotch added, "If it hadn't have been for Clooney, he wouldn't have made it."

Morgan was thinking about that when the rest of the team left. Elle had arrived later that night, but was only able to stay for a few minutes before the nurse shooed them all out. Since Morgan didn't have a house at the moment, he choose to sleep in a cot next to Reid's bed, ignoring repeated offers from the rest of the team that he stay with them. Reid had woken briefly during the visit, but was now unconscious again.

Clooney, for his part, was nuzzling against Morgan, seeking praise for what he had done. Praise Morgan was more than willing to give you.

"I tell you, Clooney," Morgan said, looking down at the dog and then to his still living friend, "I don't care what the vet said. When we get home, I'm buying you a whole bag of dog treats."


	2. The Stalker

Two weeks later. New apartment, but Morgan had put the insurance money to good use. All a man really needed to keep him going was a warm soft bed and a roof over his head, which Morgan had managed to get within a week of his house fire. On the down side, the sinfully comfortable bed only made it harder for him to get up when Clooney started barking in his ear at 6:30 a. m.

"Clooney, come on, boy," Morgan groaned, wondering, as he always did, why the darn dog couldn't leave him alone, and then remembering, as he always did, that their previous regimen had him getting Clooney a jumbo treat right about now.

"Sorry, Clooney, but you heard what the vet said. No treats for another three weeks." For a moment, Morgan wished he hadn't let Clooney have that bag of dog treats two weeks ago, but how could he have done anything different? When a dog saves your best friend's life, you give him a treat. Simple courtesy.

Speaking of the kid, Reid was sitting in his kitchen when he got up, glaring at his toast as though pretending it was Morgan's head.

"Hey, kid. Hope you slept well?" Morgan grinned, walking over to the fridge to grab himself some orange juice.

"I would have slept better if I was allowed to go to my own house," Reid answered, turning his kitten glower to its intended target. "Why can't I go home, again?"

"You know the answer to that, man," Morgan frowned as he settled down at the table, a box of Cheerios in one hand. "The stalker got into your house this time; what if Elle hadn't walked you to the door? I mean, the pictures she left were creepy enough."

Reid had walked into his door that night to find pictures of himself on his bedroom bureau. At the bookshop, the local Starbucks, even in front of work. It was definitely creepy, but Reid didn't seem to be taking it as seriously as the rest of the team.

"You're all overreacting," Reid said.

"Reid, you know the profile as well as the rest of us. The stalker has left letters, followed you, and now she's broken into your home. The next step is making contact. Your place isn't safe for you until we catch whoever this is."

"Oh, and your place is?" Reid asked. "Not trying to be difficult or anything, but the last time I was staying at your house, I almost burned to death."

"Faulty wiring," Morgan shrugged, "The chances of that happening again, in a new home, the very next time you're here…."

"Are 437,422 to 1," Reid blurted out the figure before he could stop himself, then fell back to glaring at Morgan. "It's really not that big a deal. Yes, I have a stalker, but I can take care of myself…"

"Right," Morgan snorted, digging into his breakfast.

"And besides, there are worse things she could be doing than following me around with a camera. You remember that website Garcia found where they posted stories in which you and I were gay for each other?"

"Don't remind me of that."

"And then Garcia started posting stories of her own?"

"I thought we promised never to bring that up again," Morgan said.

"I know we did," Reid responded, "But since we're going to be alone here until the stalker is caught anyway, I just figure it's something we should be able to talk about."

"There's nothing to talk about, Reid."

"Okay, Morgan... I just want you to know, though, if you did have homosexual tendencies toward me, I would understand…"

"Reid," Morgan's voice had taken on a dangerous tone.

"I mean, over two percent of adults aged 18 to 35 have admitted being homosexual; the number is steadily increasing as homosexuality is becoming more widely accepted. If those stories kindled some fiery emotion within you…"

"… You're trying to make me go to work and leave you alone aren't you?"

"Of course not," Reid said. "I just don't think there's any reason for you to stay here. Unless, of course, finding those stories online made you realize that you are, in fact, madly in love with me…"

"Reid, man, I'm telling you, all I want to do is forget that ever happened."

"Yeah, well, at least you have the option. Eidetic memory, remember?" Reid took on a wide eyed, dreamy expression, "Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan surveyed the room with impassioned chocolate eyes, looking for his lover with single minded determination-"

"Reid, please stop."

"- Spencer was late this evening, but Derek would have waited a century just to catch a glimpse of that milky skin and those golden eyes that pierced through his very soul-"

"Reid, I'm warning you."

"- At last his lover appeared, lightening up his world as only Spencer Reid could. He was wearing the same plaid sweater vest Spencer always did, and it had never looked better on him. Derek gazed at him, hungrily, his mind conjuring up images of how Spencer would look if he got that sweater vest off-"

Morgan had never been more grateful for the chime of his cell phone.

"Morgan – JJ? …. The police have a lead on the stalker. …. Well, that's great. ……. I don't know, JJ, I'm not sure it's wise to leave Reid alone…"

"- He drew his tongue along the silky flesh of his lover's pale neck-"

"- I'll be there in twenty minutes."

*****************

Morgan drove back up to his house hours later, aching, frustrated, and hoping to get into the shower and wash the day off of him. An entire day wasted in cooperation with the Quantico P.D. searching for a stalker who seemed as far away from being caught now as she did that morning.

They had past behavior, at least. It turned out that this stalker had a thing for men who courted danger, having started her stalking career three months ago with a man who'd been in the news after being attacked by a zoo chimpanzee. The man had been released from the hospital with minor injuries, only to find letters and pictures of him being sent to his home, signed simply, "Me."

"She thinks her victims already know her," Morgan thought out loud, "And are just too shy or stubborn to admit their love."

The stalker had escalated in only a few weeks to breaking into the man's house and even attacking his girlfriend. It was a miracle the stalker managed to escape local authorities after the attack. Luckily, the man had already been in the process of moving, and he and his girlfriend were gone by the next week. Apparently the stalker hadn't moved with them, choosing a different target instead.

"Reid," Morgan sighed, looking out his window. Why was it that normal girls wouldn't give his buddy the time of day, but psycho chick was just about breaking the door down to be with him? Sometimes Morgan wondered if the kid wasn't just cursed.

Morgan opened the door to his home silently, to hear only silence inside. It was an odd time for Reid to be asleep, Morgan thought, but then again, the kid was bored. Hotch's orders had been clear; Reid was not to leave the house until the stalker was caught.

"Reid?" Morgan called, just in case Reid was awake, and just reading or something. He threw his keys at the table by the front door, when his attention was suddenly caught by what was on it.

The table surface was covered with pictures. Reid at his front door, Reid with Morgan at the coffee shop, Reid at the Laundromat, Reid in front of Morgan's house…

"Reid!" Morgan made to call out for his friend again, but never got the chance. Pain exploded in the back of his head, and everything went black.


	3. Clooney to the Rescue

He woke to hushed words and a pounding headache. Morgan groaned and lifted his head, trying to remember how he'd wound up on the floor of his home. There was a picture by his head, and he struggled to focus on it.

"Reid…" Morgan whispered. It was a picture of him and his buddy together outside of the coffee shop where he'd taken Reid just before they'd arrived home. Reid had hated the shop - it wasn't his Starbucks and the coffee tasted funny – but it was important to dodge his routine, so the stalker wouldn't find him…

'Not that it matters anymore.'

The voices coming from down the hall were clearer as the pounding in his head lessened.

"Didn't I tell you, Spencey? We'll be together. I don't know why you didn't respond to my letters."

Reid didn't answer. Morgan grabbed his phone from the stand by the couch and silently dialed 911.

The phone rang four times before putting him on hold. 'Really? No, go ahead, it's not like this is an emergency or anything.' Meanwhile the female voice was getting louder.

"Spencer I'm really surprised at you. Did you honestly think I wouldn't spend the time to find out where your friends lived?" Her voice was growing darker, more threatening; Morgan hung up and tried dialing Hotch. "They don't like me, you know. They think I'm no good for you. That's why we have to go away together. Where they can't come between us."

"Aaron Hotchner."

"Hotch," He whispered, trekking down the hall as silently as he could, "It's me, Morgan."

"Oh," Hotch said, "How's-"

"Hotch; I need you to listen to me. The stalker got into my house. She snuck up behind me and knocked me out. I need backup."

"I'm on my way," In the background, Morgan could hear Hotch's footsteps pounding against the pavement, and the sound of his car door opening, "Do you know where Reid is?"

"I think she has him in the guest bedroom; she's talking to him, but he's not responding."

"Alright, Morgan, I'll get there as soon as I can. Do you have your gun?"

Sure enough, the stalker had taken his gun, but most people didn't check for hidden weapons. Morgan grinned as he checked his linen closet. "I have a gun."

"Okay. I need to get in touch with local police; there should be law enforcement officers at your house in the next five minutes. In the meantime, keep Reid safe."

"Got it, Hotch." As if he would do anything different. Morgan hung up the phone and continued to creep down the hallway, listening as the voice at the end became more frenzied. The gun made him feel far more confident, but Reid still wasn't responding, and the anxiety curling around his gut was difficult to ignore.

"I love you, Spencer. And that's why I'm doing this. Soon, you'll realize that you love me, too-"

Morgan stepped into the doorway, his mind assessing the threats almost instinctively. 1 female, about 160 pounds, about 5'9", blonde, and mildly pretty, but with a manic gleam in her eyes that overrode any disarming qualities in her appearance. Reid was on the bed next to her, he was tied up, gagged, and motionless. A thin trickle of blood came down one side of his face; he'd been subdued the same way as Morgan, it seemed.

For the first several seconds, the stalker didn't notice Morgan, her focus entirely on Reid. By the time she finally realized he was in the room, Morgan had his gun drawn, loaded, and aimed at her head.

"You need to let him go, Ma'am," Morgan said. The voice that came out of him was, as usual, far stronger and more commanding than he felt. Yes, Morgan had a gun and years of FBI training on his side, but she had Reid, and he'd been in law enforcement long enough to know that his friend's life could end in an instant. Not to mention that Morgan was probably suffering from a serious head injury; the two people in front of him seemed to blur from time to time, and Morgan couldn't be certain that his shot – if he had to make one – would be true.

"I am no 'Ma'am'," The woman sneered, "You cannot patronize me. My name is Julia Reichs, and I have every right to be here. I am Spencer's girlfriend. He loves me."

"If he loves you, then why did you tie him up?"Morgan asked, cautiously taking a step forward. Julia's arrogant expression darkened.

"He doesn't know he loves me, yet. Spencer doesn't always know what's best for him. Look at him." She moved onto the bed next to Reid, stroking his hair gently, "He never gets enough sleep. I take care of him. I made him go to sleep. I take care of him!" Her voice was beginning to rise hysterically; Morgan needed to calm her down.

"I know, Julia. I know you love Spencer. You want to do what's best for him, right?" Julia nodded emphatically, pulling Reid into her arms, "Julia, when Spencer went to sleep, he hurt his head. It's bleeding, see? He might have a concussion; he needs to go to a hospital."

Reid's eyes began to flutter. He came to full consciousness slowly and with obvious effort, more proof of how dangerous this head wound might be. His eyes scanned the area quickly, and then shot up to Morgan's, filled with obvious terror. Morgan winced; this had to be an awful thing to wake up to.

"No," Julia said, her eyes dark and suspicious, "No, you want to take him away from me." She yanked Reid up to her side, earning a cry of pain and moan as Reid fought of the impending nausea. If he threw up now, he could suffocate.

"No, Julia, that's not it. I want to help him, the same as you do. Julia, let him go… no, no don't!" Morgan's heart nearly stopped when he caught sight of the long knife Julia pulled out. Reid tried to struggle, but Julia outweighed him by at least thirty pounds. The kid was taller, but he didn't really stand a chance against her, especially tied up and hurt.

"Relax, baby. I don't want to do this, but it's the only way for us to be together. I'll follow you soon, I promise," She eyed the gun in Morgan's hand. She was smart; she knew that if she slit Reid's throat in front of him, he would shoot her, purely for revenge if nothing else. Morgan had to get her before she touched him. But his vision was fading, moving in and out as his own head wound caught up to him. If he shot now, he might hit Reid…

At first, when the growling flash of gold zoomed past Morgan and latched onto her arm, he thought it was a hallucination.

"AAAAAHHHHH!" Julia screamed, shaking her arm frantically, the knife coming far too close to Reid's throat, but not breaking the skin. Clooney's teeth, however, didn't spare her arm, breaking the flesh in jagged lines. Morgan's dog finally broke off when she tried coming at him with the knife, but only retreated out of arms length, still barking furiously. Julia, eyes wild with terror, did the one thing Morgan thought she'd never do.

She threw the knife at Clooney.

Clooney dodged it easily, and Morgan jumped forward, overpowering her.

"Stop fighting!" He screamed, giving into the adrenaline. Reid, on the other hand, slumped onto the bed, energy utterly gone and close to passing out.

The sound of the door breaking in had to be the most beautiful thing Morgan had ever heard.

Within minutes, Julia Reichs was in custody, and the paramedics were working on keeping Reid and Morgan awake on the way to the hospital. Clooney was with Garcia, probably enjoying more praise than any dog before or after him.

"Looks like I'll have to break into his diet again," Morgan said quietly.

"Don't worry, sir, we'll get you to the hospital soon," One of the paramedics attempted to comfort him, while the other worked on Reid.

"I feel fine," Reid protested drowsily, "A little nausea, maybe, but at least I'm not gagged and tied up anymore. Thanks, Morgan… I'm tired."

"Mr. Reid, we need you to stay awake."

"Dr. Reid," Morgan corrected automatically. "And it's Clooney you should be thanking, Reid. I didn't really do anything." Not that it mattered. All that mattered was that they were safe.

Reid thought about that for a minute, a sure sign that he had a concussion. "Hmmmm, a canine bodyguard. That's funny." He started giggling to himself uncontrollably, and didn't let up until they reached the hospital. Later, after the doctor had checked them both out and cleared them to be released the next day, Reid shared his joke with the team. Everyone smiled politely, as they usually did when Reid tried to make a joke. All except Hotch, who frowned, thinking it over.

"A canine bodyguard," He said. "That's not such a bad idea."


	4. Two Guys Named Fred

"Morgan, can I talk to you in my office for a moment?" Hotch called after briefing.

"Sure," Morgan frowned. Hotch had been oddly distant the last few days, and it was beginning to worry him. The nagging suspicion that Hotch resented him for what happened with Reid and that stalker last week was weighing on his mind. After all, Reid was originally going to stay at Hotch's. Morgan had argued that Reid would be safer at his place, since he'd just moved and the stalker would be less likely to know his address. Deep down, Morgan had thought he was better qualified to take care of the kid. Morgan's stubborn streak had nearly cost Reid his life.

"Please, sit down," Hotch said as they walked into his office. Morgan took a seat across from his desk and waited. Hotch sat down in his own chair and performed the perfunctory shuffling of papers before turning his attention to Morgan. "I want to know if you can do something for me."

"Yeah, man. What do you need?"

"I need you to get Clooney ready to go with the team to Vermont," Hotch said. If it were any other member of the team, Morgan would have thought it was a joke, but Hotch had no sense of humor. Still, he had to ask.

"Are you serious?"

Hotch's frown deepened. "Yes, Morgan, I am. We've had too many close calls with Reid lately, and I'd feel better if we brought Clooney along."

Morgan's dog was a better bodyguard for his best friend than he was. He ignored the forming wound in his pride and nodded. "Alright, I can see that. But, Hotch, what gave you this idea?"

"Well, Clooney's had an excellent track record with Reid these past few weeks, and this killer looks particularly nasty. None of us want anything to happen to him. Besides," Hotch cleared his throat and mumbled the next words, so low Morgan almost didn't hear them, "I've been watching Scooby Doo with my son."

"What does Scooby Doo have to do with this?" Morgan asked.

"Nothing much, except… well, Jack and I were watching it together this weekend, and I realized… that Reid is Daphne."

"Hold up – Reid is Daphne?" Morgan said. The image in his mind, of Reid next to the slender, perfectly coiffed red-head of his memory, was laughable. So he laughed. He laughed for a good long minute while Hotch glared at him. Then he snuck a look at Hotch and started laughing again.

"Yes, Reid's the one who always gets kidnapped, he's the weakest of us physically, I mean, heck, you call him pretty boy!"

Morgan avoided responding to that, "Okay, so Reid is Daphne. Garcia is Velma, then?"

"Obviously."

"So, I guess that makes me Freddie?"

"Uh, uh." Hotch shook his head emphatically, "I'm Freddie."

"But I'm the best looking," Morgan protested teasingly.

"Debatable," Hotch said solemnly, "You can be Shaggy."

"Shaggy? What – no, come on, Hotch," Morgan said. But he was smiling. This was rapidly becoming a very fun conversation. And he had always liked Shaggy as a kid. He wasn't as cool as Freddie, but a close second.

"You're the one with the dog," Hotch said.

"So, Clooney is Scooby?"

"Obviously. Why do you think we're having this conversation?" Hotch glared at me.

"Because you spend your spare time watching old cartoons with your son?" In a way, Morgan liked knowing that Hotch did that. It made his boss seem much more human. "Alright, Hotch. If it makes you feel better, I'll be Shaggy."

"So, you'll have Clooney ready to take on the plane?"

"Just give me an extra hour to get his stuff together, and yeah, I can have Clooney ready," It was actually a relief, would save him the cost of putting Clooney in the kennel. And, in a way, it was a relief to know that if he failed to protect Reid again, Clooney would have the kid's back.

**********

"So, Morgan, what did Hotch need you in his office for? ... Wait, where are you going?" Reid asked Morgan as he stepped out of Hotch's office and past his desk, moving toward the elevator.

"I have to run home," Morgan said.

"Why?" Reid said, getting to his feet and trying to follow him. The kid could never resist following someone when his curiosity was peaked. That was probably part of the reason he was so easy to lure into traps. It might be good to train him out of that.

But Morgan couldn't leave him hanging, either. "I'm heading home to pick up Clooney," He said, "Hotch wanted me to bring him with on this one."

"What?" Reid said, his face twisting in confusion, "Why is Clooney coming with us?"

"Because you're Daphne," Morgan called as the elevator doors slid closed in front of him.

The last thing he saw was Reid's face, warped in utter confusion, "I'm Daphne? What does that mean?" He turned away to shout back towards the bullpen, "JJ, what does that mean?"

As soon as he was alone in the elevator, Morgan chuckled quietly to himself. If Hotch had his way, Reid almost definitely would never find out what their conversation was about.


	5. Sick Days

The headache started about an hour after he got on the plane.

It didn't help that Clooney, who rarely saw Morgan's co-workers and had never been on a plane before, was jumping off the wall.

"Please, Clooney," Morgan moaned after Clooney jumped onto Elle for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes, "I don't want to shoot you."

"Come on, Morgan, he's adorable," Elle said, laughing as Clooney ran his tongue over her face, "I've always been a dog person."

"I like cats," Reid spoke up from his place towards the cockpit.

"Why am I not surprised?" Elle grumbled back.

"Just settle that dog down before I attack it," Morgan said sharply.

Elle glanced over at him, just now realizing how unbalanced his tone was, "Are you okay, Morgan? You seem a little testy."

"Yeah," Reid spoke up from his corner, "And you don't look well at all."

The truth was, Morgan didn't feel well either. Every inch of skin on his body felt overheated and the room was beginning to spin. But there wasn't anything he could do about it now, and besides, they had a case to solve.

"I'm fine," He said, ignoring the disbelieving and in some cases, worried looks of his colleagues. "I'll be trying to sleep over here, if anyone needs me."

But sleep didn't come easily. Morgan tried to keep his tossing and turning to a minimum while he could still feel the team's eyes on him. By the time he finally drifted off, the plane was landing.

"Come on, Morgan," Reid gently shook his shoulder, his large brown eyes concerned. Morgan sat up and realized that the plane was empty. The others must have left Reid the task of waking him up. They probably figured he'd be less short-tempered with those huge doe eyes staring at him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Morgan said, cutting back into consciousness. "Are the others headed to the police station?"

"Yep," Reid said.

"Okay, then I'll - " Morgan fell back into his chair as the room spun around him. "On second thought, you can drive, Reid."

It was clear from the horrified look on Reid's face that he had just realized exactly how sick Morgan was.

"Alright, guys, here's what the local P.D. has told us so far. About two months ago Robbie Parks turned up in a ditch. He'd had his throat slit and he'd been shot through the head. His body had been mostly decomposed at the time of discovery," JJ spoke with purpose, trying to ignore the grisly crime scene photos. Morgan was trying to ignore the pounding in his head long enough to concentrate on what she was saying.

"Did anyone fill out a missing persons report for him?" Hotch spoke up, apparently he was able to concentrate.

"No, but he didn't have many friends. He was new to the area. According to his boss, the only person he stayed in close contact with was his co-worker, a Mary Reynolds?" JJ looked at her notes, then watched as Gideon stood up. Gideon scanned the photos of all five victims.

"Isn't it odd how his type evolved? Robbie Parks was tall, thin, with dirty blond hair; the others were the same body type, but he moved to men with light brown hair," Gideon said.

"It's not that much of a leap," Elle pointed out.

"It is when you consider how alike the other victims looked. Especially with an M.O. as specific as this unsub's. One shot through the temple, and then he slits their throats. He's done the same thing every time. And it isn't like there aren't other blondes or brown haired men to kill in this area, so he isn't changing out of necessity. Something changed for this unsub after the first kill."

"These men did look an awful lot alike. It's uncanny…" JJ said softly. They did look alike, and it didn't take a profiler to take in who they looked like… the team's eyes slid in uncomfortable unison to their youngest team member, who was scratching Clooney between the ears with one hand while he read the case files with another. If his resemblance to the victims bothered him, Reid didn't show it.

"But wait a second…" Morgan said. A thought had come to his cloudy mind, fighting through the fever and headache to reach his mouth, "What about the third victim? Joshua Kendo was Asian, overweight… he looked nothing like the other victims."

From the way the others looked at him, it was obvious he had missed something.

"Morgan, Joshua Kendo was walking home with the second victim, Eric Miller. And he was only shot; his throat wasn't slit. His body was covered up, signifying remorse. He was probably in the wrong place at the wrong time. We already discussed this on the plane."

"Oh," Morgan said, frowning. "Right."

"In any case, we're looking at an unsub who is highly disorganized, most likely accompanied by a partner, with a very specific psychopathy. Something about these men triggers a murderous reaction in him." Hotch said, "The first step is talking to those who were close to the victims. Morgan, I want you and Reid to go and interview Mary Reynolds; she's a young girl living alone, she shouldn't be too much of a hassle."

"Hotch, you don't have to go easy on me just because - " Morgan began, but a coughing fit interrupted him. Hotch locked eyes with Reid, who nodded and grabbed Morgan.

"Come on, Clooney," Reid said, allowing Morgan to lean on him as they walked out.

"Did anything about Robbie seem odd to you in the days before he died?" Reid asked, glancing at Morgan every so often out of the corner of his eye. Morgan, for his part, was fine letting Reid guide the interview. He surveyed the place out of the corner of his eye, trying to draw conclusions through the pounding in his head.

Clooney hung around the edge of the room, head cocked to the side, staring at Morgan as though trying to figure out why his owner had dragged him out here.

Mary Reynolds stood in front of them, twisting her hands demurely in front of her. She was tiny, only 5'3", and thin as a post, with dark red hair and green eyes. She focused on Reid, probably finding him less threatening than Morgan.

"No, Robbie was always real sweet. Even before he died he seemed carefree… he was always really nice," Her voice grew smaller towards the end of her statement, her eyes locked to Reid's face.

"And when he went missing, why didn't you put in a report?" Reid said.

Mary's hands started trembling, "I-I don't like to get involved with police."

"Ummm, could you get us some water, please?" Reid asked, looking at Morgan out of the corner of his eye.

"Sure," Mary said, darting out of the room with relief written all over her face.

"She seems really uncomfortable with law enforcement," Reid said, "And I noticed something odd about the house… Morgan?"

"Yeah, I'm listening," Morgan said softly. The blood was rushing painfully in his ears, and dots were beginning to blink in front of his eyes. Clooney sat up and whined, noticing that something was wrong with his Daddy. Morgan wanted desperately to sit down, but moving would hurt far too much.

"Morgan, you've been sick all day, you shouldn't even be here… Morgan? Somebody, help!"

Morgan was almost confused by Reid's panic, but there wasn't really time for confusion. He could feel his eyes roll into the back of his head, the last sensation available to him before he passed out completely.


	6. Being Drugged is a Real Pain

"Morgan… Morgan… come on, man, you need to wake up!"

"Uhhhhhh."

"Okay, Morgan, you know as well as I do that that's not going to cut it. I need you to wake up."

Morgan groaned again as his headache brought him to full consciousness. It was still pounding and uncomfortable, made even more painful by the realization that he had no idea what had just happened.

"Wha?" He said blearily, looking at the room around him. It wasn't anywhere he'd ever been before. It wasn't his apartment; that was for sure. No, he wouldn't be at home, they were on a case. Yes, that was right; he was interviewing one of the victim's friends. But this wasn't her living room. No, it looked like a guest bedroom; just as tiny and musty as the other room, but he could feel scratchy wool beneath him, warm with his fever heat. Reid silently handed him a glass of water.

"You passed out in the living room. You kind of – froze for a moment, and then you collapsed on top of me. You're lucky I'm so tall, you almost crushed me."

"Sorry about that," Morgan said sheepishly, "How did I get in here?"

"Well, I tried to wake you up, but you wouldn't come to, so Mary helped me carry you in here. She's really strong for such a tiny woman," Reid said as he took the empty glass back from Morgan, "The real question is, are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine, Reid. Now where is Clooney?" Morgan didn't really have to ask; his dog was currently standing at attention at the foot of his bed, tail wagging wildly.

"He's been watching you all day, Mary had to leave because he kept growling at her," Reid said.

"Yeah, well, he doesn't want anyone to hurt his daddy, does he? Come here, boy," Morgan put out his hand and Clooney jumped forward, eager for a pat on the head. "I'm feeling a little better, Reid, and if we have everything we need here I think we should go back to the station."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think that will be possible," Mary said quietly. She looked completely innocent, bustling through with a tray of chicken broth, but Clooney jumped up and began growling furiously all the same.

"I'm sorry?" Reid said cautiously. Uh, oh, if the genius didn't know what was up, they were both really out of it.

Mary set the tray on the table by Morgan's head, then walked over to the window and pulled the curtains open. Morgan and Reid instantly knew what she was talking about. The snow was piled to about halfway up the window already. The chances of their SUV getting through that within a week were slim.

"Crap," Morgan said, dropping his head back onto the bed. The sudden movement turned out to be a mistake; Reid silently handed him a basin to vomit into and rubbed his back until he was done.

Mary didn't speak until Morgan was finished, "You'll have to stay here for the night. I'm really sorry, but I don't know where else to put you." She seemed more distraught by the idea than Morgan thought necessary. Tears were hanging on the edges of her eyelashes as she looks at them. Her gaze lingered on Reid, though Reid was too busy fluffing the pillows around Morgan's head to notice.

"Oh, that's alright. You couldn't have helped the fact that it snowed today. I should have paid closer attention to the weather forecast before coming up here," Reid said lightly.

Mary nodded, though it was clear she didn't find the words comforting. "I guess that's true," She said hesitantly, "You know, you don't both have to sleep in here. I have other rooms in the house."

"That's alright," Reid said, "I'd rather stay here with Morgan. He's really sick; he needs someone to look after him."

Morgan wanted to protest; he was a grown man after all, and he'd been sick alone before. But his head hurt and Reid was rubbing circles on his shoulder at the moment, which felt good on his aching muscles. Morgan finally gave in and slipped off to sleep.

When Morgan woke up again, his throat was dry and his stomach was, once again, doing somersaults.

"Crap," He managed, before he was yanked up and something round and plastic was being forced under his chin. Throwing up hurt; Morgan had tears in his eyes and was gasping by the time he was finished. The hands that had been supporting him gently set him back down against the headboard and pressed a bottle of water to his lips.

"Tiny sips. We don't want you vomiting again," Reid's voice gently instructed. When Morgan finished drinking, he set him back against the pillow.

"Have you been awake all this time?" Morgan asked. His voice sounded rough and scratchy in his own ears, the smell coming from his mouth made him nauseous.

"No, I've been sleeping. But you give plenty of advanced warning before you get sick," Reid said.

"Oh," Morgan winced. He was always a baby when it came to illness. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I would rather know when you're getting sick than have to clean everything up."

"You don't have to take care of me, you know."

"I know, but I like to. You're my friend, Morgan. Besides you're way easier than my mom. When she got sick, she was convinced that I was causing it. At least you don't try to beat me up while vomiting." Reid said it lightly, but it sounded awful all the same.

"Sorry, man," Morgan said softly.

"It's okay."

The peaceful silence that followed lasted exactly three minutes.

Morgan was about to drift off to sleep when the door burst open. His vision was still hazy, but he could make out a man's figure in the doorway. The guy was huge, taller than Morgan and almost as muscular. Behind him was a boy, his face pale and pointed underneath dirty blonde hair. And by "dirty blond", he meant blond and matted with grime. He was carrying a long rifle in his pale hands. Mary stood behind the two of them. She was crying silently.

Reid stood up slowly, standing over Morgan in a way that, if Morgan didn't know any better, he would say was protective.

"You're coming with us," The man said, his voice deep and impassive. But when he looked at Reid, Morgan could see the hatred blazing just beneath the surface.

"Listen," Reid said, "My friend is sick, maybe we can find a way to - "

He never had the chance to finish. The man steeped forward and backhanded Reid across the face, knocking him into the dresser. The man stepped past him and grabbed Morgan, pulling him off of the bed in one strong motion. Morgan tried to fight him off, but with the sickness every movement felt weak, slow and inadequate.

"Grab the boy!" The man barked to his partner, who would have eagerly obliged, if not for one thing.

"Ummmm, sir?" The boy gasped, looking down. Clooney was latched onto his pant leg, growling and nipped, getting more flesh into his mouth with every bite.

The man cursed flipping Morgan over his shoulder, "Mary! Grab the kid."

Mary was still crying, but she obeyed, grabbing Reid and forcing him to walk in front of them. Clooney whined, but kept his attention on the boy, obviously seeing the gun as the biggest threat. Smart dog.

"Meet us at the cabin," The man called back to the kid. Morgan wanted to scream. He wanted this man's hands off of him; why couldn't he fight back? Even sick, he should be more coordinated, but every time he moved stars danced in front of his eyes. "Getting drugged is a real pain, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry," Mary whimpered, and that was when Morgan realized. The water. There had probably been something in the broth too, but Reid didn't give it to him, afraid it would aggravate his stomach. So she had put something in the water before handing it to Reid, sure he would have Morgan drink it. Until the drug wore off, he was even more helpless than he would normally be in his condition. In other words, Morgan had no choice but to let this man – the unsub - take him and Reid.

"What do I do about the dog?" The boy asked, still struggling with Clooney, who was growling and holding on, despite the butt of the gun being shoved in his face.

"Take care of it," The man barked, carrying Morgan out of the house. He was fast; it wasn't long before Morgan couldn't see the house anymore.

But he could hear the sound of a gunshot as it tore through the night.


	7. What Hotch is Doing in Heaven

Morgan remembered losing a dog when he was nine. Her name was Syrup, a sweet little Labrador with a honey-brown coat and big eyes. The family had gotten her from a neighbor when he was three, and according to his mother, he had loved that dog from the moment they'd met.

He remembered how much it had hurt when she was hit by a car six years later. His father, who always hated to see his baby boy sad, had taken him out for ice cream every day for a month until he felt better.

Something told Morgan that if he survived this, he was going to be eating a lot of ice cream.

He didn't want to think Clooney was dead, but the evidence definitely was stacked up against that. The boy had come back to the cabin Morgan and Reid were held in minutes after the gunshot had sounded, looking rather pleased with himself.

"The dog?" The man demanded roughly when the boy walked through the door.

"Taken care of, sir," The boy said.

"Good," The man sneered, then tossed a length of rope, "Now help Mary get Jimmy tied up."

"My name is not Jimmy," Reid interrupted quietly, but a blow knocked him silent.

"You shut up!" The man roared, then went back to fixing tape over Morgan's mouth. Morgan's wrists were already tied tight over his head. Morgan's legs were free, giving him a strong desire to kick the guy in his smug face. But the drugs were still making his vision fuzzy, so he stayed still, hoping that they would wear off before anything else happened to him or Reid.

Reid was tied up in a similar fashion across the room. They were making no effort to tape his mouth over like they had done with Morgan. Reid must have realized this, because as soon as Mary stepped away from him, he began pleading.

But not for himself. Of course not.

"Let Morgan go," Reid said. His voice was trembling, but Morgan was surprised at how strong it was. Mary and the boy stared at Reid with mildly horrified expressions, while the oldest man slowly turned around.

"What?" He asked.

Reid wilted a bit, but remained firm, "Let him go. I'm obviously the one your fantasy is based around. I look like the other men you killed, right? When you killed that other boy, Joshua Kendo, you felt bad afterwards, didn't you? If you kill Morgan, you'll feel like that again."

"Well, aren't you an expert on how I'm feeling?" The man sneered.

Reid's tongue darted out to wet his lips, a clear sign of nervousness. "Come on, man. H-he's sick. You drugged him, he barely knows what's going on."

"He should have chosen his friends more carefully," The man scowled, and turned to face Morgan. His expression became venomous. "Do you even know what Jimmy did? Do you even know?" He reared back and punched Morgan in the stomach.

"No, stop!" Reid screamed, struggling against his bonds. Morgan tried to choke out the air that being punched had forced up, but the gag was making things difficult. He tried to stay awake, watching through heavy lidded eyes as the man stalked around him. Morgan saw Reid's expression change and heard a click next to his ear.

"How sorry would I feel if I blew his brains out right here, right now, huh?"

"Leave him alone!" There was something wrong with this picture. Morgan struggled to focus on it, though the room kept spinning around him. Suddenly, it clicked. He was supposed to be protecting Reid, not the other way around. But with a gun pressed up against his ear, there wasn't much to do but stay quiet.

"Why's he so important to you, eh, Jimmy?" The man drove the gun back and forth across Morgan's skin, almost like a caress.

"I already told you, my name is not Jimmy," Reid said, "It's Dr. Spencer Reid, of the FBI. And the man next to you is Agent Derek Morgan. Our team is looking for us, they know we've come here. It is in your best interests to let us go."

"You'll be dead before your friends get here," The man sneered, "And I'll be long gone."

"Come on, Jonah. Let's just let them go," Mary whimpered. The man – Jonah – turned and stared at her.

"Don't tell me you're taking Jimmy's side on this?" Jonah sneered, taking a step toward her. Morgan let out a shaky breath, slightly glad that the attention had shifted away from him. Still, his every instinct was screaming at him to help Mary, who was inching away from Jonah's gaze, looking terrified.

"This kid isn't Jimmy, Jonah. He's an FBI agent. And even if he is like Jimmy, his friend didn't do anything wrong. And I'm tired of helping you pile up more dead bodies. I don't care what he's done, Jimmy, this is going way too far! I'm going to put a stop to this right now!" With that, Mary whipped a small knife out of her belt and began sawing at the ropes holding Reid.

"NO!" Jonah roared. He stepped in front of Morgan to aim the gun at Mary. Which was exactly the kind of thing Morgan was waiting for. With an almighty shove that sent his head reeling, Morgan drove his feet into Jonah's back.

What he hadn't counted on was for Jonah's gun to go off backwards, sending searing pain shooting through his leg. He cried out against the gag. But the job of distracting Jonah was accomplished, and ten seconds later, Reid's trembling fingers were undoing his bonds.

"Come on, Morgan, you have to run!" Reid pulled him off of the wall and ripped the tape off of his mouth. It hurt, but Morgan didn't complain, concentrating on making himself run. Even Morgan was surprised at how fast he could move with a bum leg, sick, and with drugs still coursing through his veins.

Jonah was cursing and firing the gun. "You're lucky that they'll freeze to death before help comes; otherwise you'd be dead right now, you hear?"

Morgan barely got outside of earshot before he collapsed, the force of his weight taking Reid down with him.

"Morgan, are you okay? Oh…" Reid gasped and Morgan felt Reid's hand on his leg, most likely getting slick with Morgan's blood. "Just hold on, you're going to be fine, just - Morgan, no! Don't -" The rest of whatever Reid was trying to say was lost in darkness.

The sound of rapid footsteps woke Morgan up, along with the sounds of a dog barking. Was that Clooney? He must be in heaven then, right? Or at least dead, which probably wasn't so far out, considering that his last memory was passing out in the freezing cold with blood pouring from his leg.

Morgan was just resigning himself to his recent death when he saw a blurry face bending over him. Wait a minute… he recognized that scowl. What was Hotch doing here?

"Yo, Hotch. What are you doing in heaven?" Morgan asked. Or tried to, his mouth felt like it was being soaked in cotton. Hotch didn't answer; his hand went straight to Morgan's injured leg while his face twisted in concern.

"Hold on, Morgan. We're getting you and Reid to a hospital, just hold on…"


	8. Lassie

Morgan's next memory was of the bright whiteness of the hospital room. The team was seated around him; they were all staring at his face in a way that felt mildly uncomfortable. He made to sit up, but Gideon's hand forced him back down.

"The doctors said you shouldn't move for awhile."

"What happened?" Derek asked, settling back down into bed. He was happy to do it, moving made his head hurt.

"You were abducted, shot, and nearly froze to death," Hotch said blankly, "Your leg was the worst, because of the blood loss. You'll be in a cast for a few weeks, crutches after that. You are lucky; if we had found you any later than we did, you'd have lost your leg."

"How did you find me?" Derek asked me.

"Clooney tracked you down," Hotch said.

The sound of his dog's name jolted Morgan from the drug induced haze filling his mind. How could Clooney have tracked him down? Morgan had heard the gunshot; Clooney was dead, wasn't he?

"Clooney found me?" He asked.

"We found him while we were heading down to Mary Reynolds' home. You hadn't come back yet, we decided to come and get you," Gideon explained, "JJ saw him on the side of the road. We stopped to try and get him, but he wouldn't let us. He led us to you. He saved yours and Reid's lives."

"Reid," Morgan groaned, "How's the kid doing?"

"Not very good," Gideon said, "But you can see him for yourself."

Gideon motioned to the side; Morgan turned his head to see Reid lying in the other bed. Reid was unconscious and much paler than Morgan liked to see him. An IV was dripping fluids through his veins.

"He was laying over you when we found him. Trying to keep you warm."

"Aw, man, Reid," Morgan sighed. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"He's going to be fine, thank goodness," JJ said. "He just needs rest. You both do."

"I was almost murdered. Rest is the last thing on my mind," Morgan said darkly, "You do know that Mary Reynolds was housing the unsub?"

"It was her brother. His name is Jonah Reynolds. He and his son, Ricki have been staying with her for the last two months. We caught up with him and Mary at the house. He signed a confession yesterday."

"You already have a confession? How long have I been out?" Morgan asked.

"Two days," Gideon said.

"He kept mentioning someone named Jimmy while he tied us up," Morgan remembered, "He thought Reid was Jimmy. Do you know who that is?"

"Jimmy Dentry was their cousin. He looked just like Jonah, only he had brown hair instead of blond. He came to live with the Reynolds family when he was 15; at eighteen he got high and drove a car into a ditch, but not before lighting the house on fire. Mary and Jonah's parents were inside; they both died. Jonah said he blamed himself for their death, and that's why he killed Robbie. Robbie Parks looked so much like Jonah did at nineteen; seeing him must have been the stressor. But then he realized it was Jimmy he really wanted dead, and he switched to killing brown haired men," Gideon said.

"Men like Reid," Morgan said.

"Yeah, and without Clooney, he would have succeeded." Gideon said.

"Where's Clooney now?" Morgan asked. It had just occurred to him.

"The hospital has a rule against animals in the recovery room; so Garcia's watching him." Hotch had no sooner finished this sentence than Garcia bounced into the room.

"Not anymore, Elle is on doggie duty and I'm here to see my fallen dark knight. How are you feeling?" She flounced onto the edge of Morgan's bed and stared at him.

"Better, now, baby girl," Morgan teased, "But what are you doing here? I thought you were back in Quantico."

Garcia scoffed, "As if I could stay away knowing you and my baby genius were hurt? You wound me."

"How's Clooney?" Morgan asked.

"He's fine. He misses you like crazy," Garcia said. "He keeps sitting at the door like he's waiting for you to come through it. In all honesty, I think he would prefer Reid, but you're the one who fills his food bowl."

"Come on, Garcia; now who's wounding who?" Morgan said, while the others laughed, "I'm relieved; I thought that Reynolds kid had shot him."

"He shot into the air to scare Clooney away. He thought it worked, but the dog stuck around the area," JJ said, "He must have known we would come. Honestly, I think Reid's status as resident genius may be in jeopardy." JJ laughed.

That reminded him. "Do me a favor, Garcia. Call Elle and tell her to give Clooney all the dog treats he can handle."

"You sure you want to break into his diet again?" Garcia asked.

Morgan looked over at Reid, who was beginning to stir. "He deserves it. Hey, Pretty Boy. How are you doing?"

"Morgan?" Reid asked. He squinted and blinked a few times, trying to put Morgan into focus. "How are you doing?"

"Better, now that I'm not freezing to death in the middle of the woods," Morgan said. He turned to Garcia, "Call Elle and give him the treats. Here's to hoping I don't need to break into his diet again." He lifted the glass of water a nurse gave him in a mock toast.

"What are you talking about?" Reid asked. He still sounded mildly groggy under the influence of the drugs the IV was no doubt pouring into his veins. The same nurse handed Reid a smaller glass of water; Reid seized it and began drinking.

"Clooney saved our butts again," Morgan said.

"Hmmmm," Reid mused, "Why does that make me feel like I'm trapped in a bad episode of "Lassie"?"

"Don't worry," Hotch said, "You won't need to worry about that again for a while. I talked to Strauss, and given the circumstances, she's agreed to let the other teams handle cases for a while. For the next month, we'll be home with paperwork."

"I'm not sure how I feel about that," Morgan grumbled.

"Alright," Garcia interrupted. "I am satisfied that my chocolate lover and sweet junior g-man are alive and well, and now I'm going to adjourn to the store to get your dog treats. Anything else you want?"

"Ice cream?" Morgan asked.

"Oh – I want some, too!" Reid piped up. Garcia smiled angelically at them and departed. "By the way, I thought I heard someone say that I was losing my spot as genius to a dog?"  
"It was just the meds, Pretty Boy," Morgan and JJ exchanged grins.

"Yep," Reid said, "Definitely a bad episode of "Lassie"."


	9. Clooney's Dark Side

Despite Morgan's doubts, the world actually did go back to normal following the Reynolds case. For once, Strauss kept her promise, and sent the other teams traipsing around the country after serial killers and let them rest. It had been three weeks of safe, peaceful paperwork at the office.

But that did have its drawbacks.

"Morgan, my office, please," Hotch said. The 'please' was a nice touch, but Hotch said it with the same tone as he usually said 'now'.

Morgan had one blissful moment of confusion before he looked at the clock. "Crap."  
The team was watching him with juvenile glee, the way they usually did when this kind of thing happened. He slouched past Elle's desk only to hear her sing, "Somebody's in trouble.

"Shut up," Derek grouched.

It was funny; usually Morgan complained about the distance from his desk to Hotch's office. Now he was wishing the contractor had put in a few extra stairs.

"Morgan, you're late," Hotch said, skipping the pleasantries as he glared at Morgan from behind his desk, "Again."

"Only by five minutes."

"Last time it was ten." Hotch wasn't cutting him any slack.

"I'm improving?" Morgan tried. He kind of knew it was a lost cause anyway. "Oh, come on Hotch, it's not like we're doing anything anyway. It's waiting until Reid's done at noon and then watching him do magic tricks all day."

"Be that as it may, I expect you to be on time for work," Hotch said sternly. "How about this, Morgan – if you show up half an hour early for work tomorrow, I'll let this go."

"Half an hour?" Morgan whined. The look on Hotch's face told him arguing would be detrimental to his career. "Okay, fine. Looks like I'll have to ask Reid for another favor."  
****

"Aw, Morgan, you were late for work again?" Reid said.

Morgan blinked, "You didn't notice?"

"I was working on paperwork," Reid said, as if that explained everything.

"Reid, man, you do know that you're the only one who actually… never mind." Morgan shook his head. "The point is, I need you to walk Clooney for me before work. There's a kennel for him by the BAU, I've been meaning to try it out for a while. Take him there and I'll pick him up at the end of the day."

"Okay," Reid said.

"Okay? You mean you're not gonna argue with me on this?" Morgan said.

Reid shrugged, "Clooney saved my life. And if it means I actually get to see you when I walk into work for a change, it's worth it."

Morgan was at work half an hour early. And, more because Hotch was still glaring at him from his office than anything, Morgan actually did some work. He managed to get through two files – and was very proud of himself for the accomplishment, at that – when the rest of the team showed up.

With one glaring exception.

"Where's Reid?" JJ asked, looking around the bullpen.

Morgan looked up at Reid's desk; the kid wasn't sitting there as he usually was. JJ checked the break room, Elle even went out to check the parking lot.

"There's no sign of him," Elle said, flipping back down at her desk. But Morgan wasn't looking at her. He was looking at the clock.

"5… 4… 3… 2... 1…. YES!" Morgan boomed, pumping his fist at the air. The rest of the team stared at him.

"… I'm probably going to regret asking this, but… why?" Elle asked.

Morgan was beaming from ear to ear, "As of ten seconds ago, Dr. Spencer Reid is officially late to work. He's never gonna live this down; all those times he's lectured me about being late to work…"

"He's only ten seconds late, Morgan," JJ said.

"Hey, it may be a small victory, but it's all I have," Morgan defended.

The minutes ticked by; Morgan watching the clock with increasing glee, the others with worry.

"It's been fifteen minutes; Reid's never this late. Do you think we should look for him?" JJ asked.

"He's with Clooney," Morgan said nonchalantly, "How much trouble can he get into?"

At that moment, Reid walked through the door.

"I stand corrected," Morgan said.

Reid looked awful. His hair was sticking up in all directions, his clothes were rumpled, his tie hanging dangerously askew. There was a hole in his pants the size of a baseball, and cuts and scrapes seemed to cover every inch of his lanky body.

"Oh, my gosh, Reid! Are you okay?" JJ asked.

But Reid wasn't looking at her. He was glaring at Morgan.

"You. Are. Dead." He grumbled.

Morgan seemed unconcerned.

And You. Are. Late." He said.

Reid let out a strangled yell and lunged at him, barely being held back by Elle and JJ. Hotch was down the stairs in an instant, glaring furiously.

"What is going on?" He asked, "And Reid, its fifteen minutes past the time you were supposed to be here. What happened to you?"

Reid pointed at Morgan's face. "His dog, that's what!"

"What?" Morgan sat straight up in his chair, "Don't drag Clooney into this!"

"Don't drag Clooney into this? Clooney dragged me into this!" Reid yelled.

"Alright, Reid, take a deep breath," Elle said, "Just calmly tell us what happened."

"Alright. I picked up Clooney about an hour ago from Morgan's house and started walking toward here. I calculated my pace and figured I would get to work five minutes early. At first everything went well…" Reid paused to glare at Morgan again.

"Then what happened?" Hotch pressed.

"All of the sudden, Clooney started growling at everyone who came within five feet of me. He tried to pick fights with the other dogs, their owners… I had to spend twenty minutes holding him back from the other people on the street. It was humiliating. Then, when I finally think he's calming down, he drags me into traffic! I almost got ran over by a car! Then he starts barking like crazy, and when I finally get to the other side, he wags his tail and stares at me like I'm supposed to be praising him! And it's all Morgan's fault."

"Wait a second! How is this my fault? I reward Clooney when he saves you, not... oh…" And Derek Morgan burst into laughter.

"What is going on?" Hotch asked.

"You're happy that he tried to kill me?" Reid asked.

"No, not at all. I just realized why Clooney did it though. I give Clooney a dog treat every time he saves Reid's life, right? Well, he's been on a diet and Reid hasn't been in danger because we haven't had a case… so he created the danger himself. Clooney tried to kill Reid for dog treats."

There was silence as the team let it sink in.

"That's kind of brilliant," Elle said.

"Morgan, do us all a favor and keep your dog away from Reid," Hotch sighed, heading back up the stairs.

Morgan started laughing again, "That's what she said."

This time, no one tried to hold Reid back.


End file.
